


Gone Away

by satan_chicken



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: Description of Grief, F/M, Funeral, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, also i'm sorry for being so vague, but it makes my writing seem more artsy, methinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:05:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satan_chicken/pseuds/satan_chicken
Summary: Harrison Osterfield has lost someone.





	Gone Away

**Author's Note:**

> If you can, read the whole thing in your head with Harrison's voice. This is written from his perspective.  
> And yes, this fic is super vague and doesn't really have any sense but I tried to make it emotional regardless.  
> Also The Series of Unfortunate Events is kind of referenced, it's not very direct or relevant, so this can 100% be read if you have no idea what it's about.

In a perfect world, it would’ve been pouring right now. 

Well, in a perfect world, none of this would’ve happened in the first place. 

The world is quiet here. 

\--- 

My name is Harrison Osterfield, and I recently lost someone very, very important to me. 

I want you to think extremely hard right now. Really, focus and picture in your head, someone who is very important to you. What do they look like? How have they done their hair this morning? Which pair of shoes do they have on, or are they perhaps barefoot or wearing only socks? Touch them. Go on. Anywhere. Maybe their hair, their face, their shoulder, their hand, maybe their hip, if you’re into that kind of thing. You can even go for a hug. Are they warm or cold? Soft or firm? Now this next bit sounds weird, to say the least, but trust me. What do they smell like? 

Now look in their eyes. What lies underneath? Or, how are they looking at you? They can see you, you know. What’s in their eyes? Is it the same adoration and respect that you have in your eyes right now, or maybe they are nonchalant or even bitter and hateful? I hope it’s the former. 

I have the bad habit of taking things for granted in a world that seems to only take things away from me. They tried to teach me to be more appreciative of things, but I was too stubborn. I’ve made progress, though. 

\--- 

The first time we met, we were young and beautiful and strong, and malleable. That’s why we were being taught things. A lot of things, way too fast. Amidst all that I nearly lost sight of everyone and everything around me that didn’t have to do with puzzles and codes and riddles. I almost didn’t recognize her when she tapped my shoulder in the school library. I almost refused to go with her to buy tea from the scary cafeteria lady. Luckily, I said yes. She held my hand as we walked. It was strange. Few people had held my hand in the past few... Months? Years? God, what an ambiguous concept time is. For many years it was all warped and twisted and muddy, until it went by like an arrow shot from an Olympian’s bow. Now it seems to have halted completely. Time flows by like a cloud, and still doesn’t rain down after growing heavier and darker by the hour. 

\--- 

We had a fight in the car on our way to the party. Not our first one, not our worst one either. It was my fault, at least that’s how I feel now. Then, in the dark backseat of a black car with tinted windows, I blamed her. She was wrong. Of course I appreciated her, why couldn’t she see that? She was screaming and I didn’t like that one bit because it curled her mouth into a weird shape and her eyes were glassy and it’s almost like she was crying but I didn’t want her to cry because this was a happy event and we were so happy and I was so happy to be with her and she just didn’t understand. I was screaming, too. I was wrong in that. 

Her dress was gorgeous, elegant, but youthful. Her hair had been done to perfection. Her face didn’t need makeup, but it complemented her that night. The necklace she was wearing, it was a gift. I had given it to her a few weeks earlier for her birthday even though I knew she didn’t wear much jewelry, but it was tradition to buy your girl something expensive and pretty for special occasions and I hadn’t thought twice when I had walked past the store window and seen a necklace made of beautiful pearls and light gold and I thought it’d look beautiful on her. It did. It was breathtaking. She was. I should have told her. 

I couldn’t stand looking at her like this. Sometimes you see something so beautiful yet so powerful, you don’t know how to feel. It was like that, she was like that. 

She stormed out of the car. I stayed for a moment before following. It still baffles me how she could stride so fast in those shoes, because she was already at the door when I closed the car door behind me. Her back was turned to me, her head down, arms crossed at her chest and one foot tapping at the marble tiles. Soft music flowed outside from the mansion and the lights bathed her in gold and glitter. She was fire-like. 

Why I took that for granted, I will never know. I will probably spend the rest of my life thinking about that, here, in the darkness, the cold, where all I have left are shivers on my back and the waning smell of smoke. 

\--- 

The funeral had been difficult, to say the least. Even getting up on time was hard, and the actual funeral didn’t start until the late afternoon. You should know that I never sleep in, so when I spend hours upon hours in my room in the morning without ever opening the door, that means I’m either dead or lying awake, staring at the ceiling and wondering if getting up is worth it at all. 

The dark suit stared at me from my closet. I didn’t want to put it on. I didn’t want to have to wear something special to prove to others that my grief was genuine. Of course it was. Who in their right mind would spend their time consciously remembering and dwelling on something in the past that they cannot change and that will not change anything that’s going to happen today, or tomorrow, or all year, or ever? And yet it was all I could think about. 

I couldn’t taste anything I had for breakfast that day. All I know is that it took way too long for me to finish eating it, and then it took even longer for me to get myself into a condition where I was presentable to the outside world. That meant showering, shaving, and brushing my teeth. I attempted to make my hair not look like I hadn’t even combed it in days. We do not need to discuss the result. 

The car picked me up. I got in the backseat, not saying a word. I didn’t need to. The driver knew exactly where to go. Time felt too fast again. I had thought that maybe I could just sit down and let the buildings and the trees flash by in front of my eyes and maybe try to put my thoughts into order and make some goddamn sense of all the things in my head. The car stopped at the cemetery gates and it was as if nothing had changed. 

The weather, in all honesty, was beautiful, and I hated it for being like that. It was disrespectful. When something beautiful dies, it is not polite for other things to immediately try to compete for the empty place. Besides, nothing ever could. It was like someone had pulled out a sunflower and tried to replace it with a green plastic shovel. It was a mockery. And so, I decided to hate the weather that day. The world had lost something wonderful, why should it not grieve with rest of us? It was unfair. All of it. 

In a perfect world, it would’ve been pouring right now. 

Well, in a perfect world, none of this would’ve happened in the first place. 

My name is Harrison Osterfield, and I recently lost someone who was and still remains irreplaceable. I wish I had known that sooner.


End file.
